


Between the Shadow and the Soul

by 64907



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Historical, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-21 04:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64907/pseuds/64907
Summary: After the earthquake, Sho moves back to his hometown hoping for a better future than the one he just lost. He finds work in a strange orphanage that has no children, but the mystery doesn’t end there.
Relationships: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho
Comments: 18
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So with this my holy trinity of AUs is complete: demonfucker, alienfucker, and finally vampirefucker. Half of this AU is thanks to rochi, who helped me iron out a couple of things in the plot. She's the biggest cheerleader of this AU.
> 
> Some things I have to warn about before anything else:  
> \- Regarding the “minor character death” tag...I'm very sorry. Spoilers to prepare y'all's kokoros: Ohno has d-worded in this fic but he’s a minor character who’s still somewhat present if that makes sense. If that’s too much for you, please hit the back button and love yourself.  
> \- the "Implied/referenced suicide" tag pertains to one throwaway line at the beginning of the story, starring unnamed minor characters. I tagged it just to be safe. None of the characters who play a big role in this AU will d-word in that way.  
> \- This fic is set in 1923, a month after the Great Kanto Earthquake that hit Tokyo on September 1st.  
> \- If there’s any historical inaccuracy, please forgive me. I tried my best to google stuff and make a timeline for certain events, including throwaway lines, and still, I know there are things I had to omit or change for the sake of the story. If that displeases you, please close this fic.  
> \- Tags will be updated depending on how horny the entire thing becomes.  
> \- Any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet XVII. The line goes “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul."
> 
> I'm 60k+ words into this and I'm only missing, like, three plot points but I'm posting the first chunk early because it's the anniversary of lockdown in my country. Not that it means anything good; I just want to remember something better for this day and if that's the vampirefucker AU finally breathing, then it's the vampirefucker AU. I would've finished this earlier had I not been sucked into watching another costume drama, but here we are.

It happened around noon when Sho was out of the company building trying to grab lunch from the nearest izakaya. He could remember it vividly: the way the izakaya was full of bustling activity seconds before everything changed.  
  
When it did, it started with a tremor. Quiet and sudden, and just when everyone around Sho thought to brush it off, it returned with a fierce intensity that sent plates to the floor and the overhead lamps swaying until they fell to and shattered on the ground.  
  
By then, people were screaming. Some were quick to duck under the tables for cover as the ground shook, and some, like Sho, thought it’d be safer if he got away from there as soon as possible.  
  
He could remember running—the fastest he’d ever run in his life. He ran until his breaths came out in gasps, and around him, the Tokyo he knew began to change. The buildings that marked his everyday life disappeared one by one, windows shattering as people screamed for help. Fires broke out, lapping up houses and establishments, and he knew it accompanied the sound of people dying.  
  
Ignoring the cries for help that flooded his ears, he continued running. He ran to the highest ground he knew, his body high on adrenaline and singularly focused on survival. He didn’t remember how long he ran and where, only that he did. The earth trembled still and someone close to him started praying.  
  
“If there is a god, this is him,” one man said behind him.  
  
Sho never believed in a higher being, that there was someone omnipotent and powerful watching over them. But at the time, he could recall wondering for the first time.  
  
If they existed, were they any different from him who was now watching the city crumble and burn while the people that once lived in it died slowly and painfully, buried beneath the rubble or surrounded by flames? If god existed, did they delight in the suffering they had caused? Or did it break them in the way it did Sho, as he now knelt on the ground and shed tears freely?  
  
As the dark plumes of smoke began to envelop the skies of Tokyo, Sho wondered. As the city gradually turned itself to ruin, he kept wondering.  
  
If there was a god, then why did they abandon everyone?  
  
\--  
  
There wasn’t much left, after.  
  
All the industrial innovations that were once in their prime now lay in ruins that covered the capital. Some of the survivors worked tirelessly as volunteers, lending aid and trying to locate the missing people reported by surviving family members.  
  
After the earthquake, Sho lost everything.  
  
He couldn’t remember how he took the news when he had found out. All he remembered was a blur before a sharp, lancinating pain tore through his ribcage, his body wracking in sobs. He cried for his family, his friends, and for the life he once knew that had changed so abruptly. He cried until his eyes and lungs burned, he screamed until he became hoarse, and when he finally found the words to speak, he was blaming god like the rest of those who had survived.  
  
By the time the city started patching itself up, Sho was on his way back to Gunma. There was nothing left for him in Tokyo. He lost his family in either the earthquake or the fires, along with most of his friends. The ones who had made it like him went back to their hometowns, and Sho thought to himself, there would be no point in persisting. Staying in Tokyo would only worsen the ache of his recent loss, and he was only human. He could do nothing against the wrath of god.  
  
If god willed everything, then they willed for Sho to not look back.  
  
In hindsight, Sho was somewhat amazed at his resilience to keep on living. Some of his friends that had survived took measures to end their lives in the aftermath, and Sho couldn’t blame them for it. He’d thought about it, more than once, when he’d felt so helpless and alone and had nothing else to continue living for.  
  
But still, he persevered. Somehow, there remained a part of him that couldn’t be extinguished. It could be a small smidgen of hope, but Sho wasn’t that poetic. Whatever it was, it kept him from dying, and it made sure he lived.  
  
So he did. He returned to Yubiso where his grandparents lived in a small, quiet town at the foot of Mount Tanigawa, and only there did he allow himself to grieve fully. Having the remainder of his family close by reminded him that he wasn’t alone, and only then did he let himself go.  
  
And in his grief, somehow, he found the strength to continue onward—for his family, his friends, and everyone who had lost their lives in the disaster. Somehow, amidst the raw heartache that gnawed at him, he felt that he owed it to the people who hadn’t made it that he kept on living.  
  
Whether god existed or not wasn’t his concern, and whether god was to blame for the calamity or not wasn’t something he knew.  
  
All he knew was that if god didn’t want him to live, then they should have killed him in that earthquake. And if god didn’t want him to be arrogant, then perhaps he shouldn’t have survived.  
  
If there was a god, Sho thought, then this was him standing up against them.  
  
\--  
  
His grandparents tilled their own lands at the slopes of the mountain, and Sho resorted to helping them. Their family employed farmers, and the administrative side fell on Sho’s hands. He wasn’t looking to inherit the property, but with the way things were, it seemed that he hardly had a choice. While he didn’t graduate with a business degree, he had to do what he could.  
  
Three months after the earthquake, Sho finally made a decision.  
  
He informed his grandparents that he would look for an accounting job somewhere in the neighboring towns. While he already managed the finances of his grandparents’ business, he knew he could do more. He was no longer fueled by ambition like he’d been in Tokyo; right now, he merely wanted to help as much as he could.  
  
“I’m thirty-nine now,” he told his grandparents. “If I can do more than what I’m doing, then that’s what I want.”  
  
When Sho put his mind onto something, hardly anyone could talk him out of it. It was apparently a Sakurai trait that he’d inherited: a stubbornness that persisted despite the odds, the refusal to give up without even trying.  
  
He started searching for work in the small town, eventually having local businesses as part of his clientele while keeping his services free for the closest friends of his grandparents. The town in Yubiso mostly constituted of the elderly, and Sho felt awful at asking for a professional fee when some of them had also lost their families in the earthquake.  
  
He was in town and overseeing the delivery of the recent harvest when he came across it. It was a quiet day in winter, the snow still thin and barely covered the ground. He’d heard that winters at the foot of the mountain could get very cold, and while Sho wasn’t overly sensitive to changes in temperature, he still had to pull his cloak around his form as he checked the records.  
  
His grandparents worked as suppliers to certain businesses in town, including the grocery and the granaries. Yubiso operated differently from Tokyo; in Tokyo, very few granaries functioned separately from groceries. Yubiso had separate business establishments for each, and Sho’s trip to town took most of the day because he also triple-checked the bookkeeper’s records for each establishment under his clientele.  
  
Sho liked knowing everything when it concerned his job. It was a habit and one he could never do away with.  
  
On his way back, he spotted it. An inconspicuous piece of paper that was half-buried in the thin cover of snow, discarded on the sidewalk. There was something written at the corner of it, and when Sho bent down to pick it up, he found that it was an address.  
  
Turning over the paper revealed a portrait of a man wearing traditional clothing, the colors of his kimono fading overtime. It must be a very old postcard, and now that Sho looked around, he discovered that he’d picked it up a few feet from the town post office.  
  
He turned the postcard over and examined the faded ink scrawled at the back. It was an address, but that wasn’t what made him frown. He thought he knew where every establishment and house in Yubiso was, at least the ones that were in town.  
  
Curiosity heightened, he went to the post office to ask.  
  
The postman who worked there glanced over the address before nodding in recognition. He was a bit older than Sho, perhaps in his late fifties. A few years more and he’d likely be retiring.  
  
“Oh, that,” the man said genially after Sho had posed his inquiries following his greetings. “There’s an orphanage further up the mountain if you follow the trail.”  
  
Sho frowned; this was the first time he’d heard of it. “I didn’t know there was an orphanage here in Yubiso.”  
  
The postman shrugged. “Those who live here do, of course. How long have you been in Yubiso?”  
  
“Three months,” Sho said.  
  
The postman nodded. “That’s understandable, then. That address is far up the mountain, accessible if you follow the trail, but I believe none of the townspeople go up there voluntarily.”  
  
“I thought not,” Sho said in agreement. Most of the people in Yubiso were in the geriatric age group and climbing mountains would have been too much for them. It wasn’t the ideal form of recreation either, not with the mountain appearing imposing at times, especially during winter. “Do they ever come down? The people from the orphanage, I mean.”  
  
The postman paused in thought for a moment. “They do. The director of that orphanage sometimes claims packages from overseas; it’s why I know the address. Never saw any of the children come down for a stroll in town though, never in my years of being here.”  
  
“I see,” Sho said.  
  
“Will you conduct business there?” the postman asked. “Most of the town’s businesses are already part of your clientele, Sakurai-san, so I’m assuming that’s why you’ve asked.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Sho said with a smile. It couldn’t hurt to inquire if the orphanage needed an accountant. Everybody needed an accountant nowadays as Japan itself began to welcome the Western industries to its shores. “Thank you for your help.”  
  
He bid the man farewell and headed home. He told his grandparents about his plans to commission an automobile that could take him up the mountain trail tomorrow, and the sudden shift in the dinner ambiance made him pause.  
  
“There’s nothing up there in the mountains, Sho-chan,” his grandmother told him patiently, but Sho could sense the underlying guard in her voice like she was holding herself back. She didn’t look at him. “Only overgrown weeds and untrimmed grass.”  
  
Sho frowned. “The postman told me of an orphanage there.”  
  
“There was an orphanage,” his grandfather said this time, “but that was a long time ago. The orphanage we know of operated when I was still a boy, and if it’s operating still, I think we would know.” He shook his head. “As your grandmother said, there’s nothing up there. Not anymore. If you find an orphanage, then it’s most likely the one I’ve always known and the one that’s been long abandoned.”  
  
The furrow between Sho’s brows deepened. The postman had made it sound like the orphanage was still in operation, even mentioning its director coming to town to claim his occasional packages. He told his grandparents as much. “That’s not what the postman said earlier," he added.  
  
“I know Suzuki-san from the post office,” his grandmother said. “He’s a good man. But he must have been mistaken. No one’s been to the mountains for a long time and no one’s come down from it in decades. The town hasn’t heard from the orphanage in years.”  
  
At that, Sho backed down. There was no point in arguing further; his grandparents obviously held on to their beliefs and not a casual chat with the local postman could change that. But the dinner conversation certainly added more to his growing curiosity.  
  
As if an orphanage hidden in the slopes of the mountain wasn’t already mysterious enough, there was the matter of it not being in operation for years according to his grandparents. Now that Sho thought about it, this was likely; it would explain why the postman hadn’t seen any of the children coming to town for a visit.  
  
But if the orphanage was no longer operational, then who was the man who had introduced himself as its director? What was he doing in the mountains, dropping a postcard that bore the address of the old orphanage?  
  
Sho decided to find the answers in secret and on his own. Clearly, there’s something more to Yubiso than its quiet, tranquil life at the foot of Mount Tanigawa.  
  
\--  
  
The next time he was in town, he began asking around. The answers varied; some were like his grandparents, believing there couldn’t possibly be an orphanage up the trail, while some knew there was.  
  
“Why, just the other day, Ninomiya-san came down to buy rice,” a woman who worked in the granary told him. She was a few years older than Sho, her smile somewhat calculating. “He bought ten sacks of it for the winter.”  
  
“Ten sacks?” Sho echoed. “What’s one man going to do with ten sacks of rice?”  
  
“For the children, of course,” the woman told him, gaze fleeting up the looming mountain that overshadowed the town. “That Ninomiya works in the orphanage.”  
  
“Where else may I find this Ninomiya-san?” Sho inquired; this might be his first lead towards unraveling the growing mystery of the orphanage’s existence.  
  
The woman gestured across the street with her chin. “He lives in that room above the izakaya. I don’t think he’s there right now; he’s always gone in the mornings. He always returns from the mountain before the sun is down, though.”  
  
Sho turned his gaze to the izakaya and contemplated. “You’re one of the few people who think that the orphanage is still in operation.”  
  
The woman smiled. “I don’t think it is, really. I’m just believing what Ninomiya tells me whenever he purchases rice. I don’t care what he does with it; he pays well. So if he says it’s for the children I never saw, then maybe it is for the children I never saw.” Her eyes now carried a particular glint when they met Sho’s. “In this town, when someone says they’re working for the orphanage, we don’t ask questions.”  
  
Sho frowned; shouldn’t the locals themselves be curious about what was happening in their town? Granted, the supposed address of the orphanage was located outside the town, but it was still close enough. If anything happened there, wouldn’t the townspeople even come to help?  
  
“Because it’s none of your business?” Sho guessed.  
  
“If you meet Ninomiya, you’ll know. He has a way of selling what he says,” the woman said with a quiet chuckle. “So if he tells me he works in the orphanage that we have long believed to be abandoned, then so be it.”  
  
Sho nodded in understanding and slight embarrassment; it was obvious that whoever this Ninomiya was, he must've possessed an attractive face that made things easier for him. Whoever he was, he had his way of charming people into asking no further questions.  
  
He thought about it and decided it couldn’t hurt to ask. “Ninomiya-san can’t be the director of the orphanage, can he?”  
  
At that, the woman laughed. “Director? Nonsense!” She waved her hand in dismissal. “That’s too much of a story, and if Ninomiya told me that, I wouldn’t buy it even if he had that face. No, Sakurai-san, he’s not the director, if that orphanage does have one. He says he works as their grocer, whatever that means.”  
  
“He purchases items that are available in town for the orphanage?” Sho clarified.  
  
“Something like that,” the woman said. “Now I know what you’re thinking: it does sound a little unbelievable. Especially when Tanaka-san from the grocery said that Ninomiya recently helped empty an entire shelf of wine. Said it was—”  
  
“For the orphanage,” Sho finished, and the woman nodded once more.  
  
“As far as I know, the man did drink, but he was no drunkard. He’s a lightweight according to the barkeep that my brother is good friends with, and I’m taking his word for it,” she told him.  
  
“So no one knows what he does with all the rice and the wine,” Sho concluded. “Except for himself, that is.”  
  
“Not quite,” the woman said, her eyes on the floor above the izakaya across the street. “I’m positive his wife knows something.” At Sho’s surprise, she laughed. “If you’re looking for answers, perhaps the other Ninomiya-san can provide them.”  
  
\--  
  
It was how Sho found himself knocking on the door of the apartment above the izakaya. The signage beside the door did say Ninomiya, and from inside, he heard a shuffle followed by a feminine voice that asked him to wait a moment.  
  
He didn’t know what he expected. Perhaps he expected nothing. The Ninomiya-san that opened the door had a bright, beautiful smile, some of her hair covering her forehead while most of it was held in a loose bun. She wore an apron; it looked like she was in the middle of preparing a meal.  
  
“May I know who it is?” she asked politely, and Sho hastily introduced himself.  
  
“I’ve recently moved back from Tokyo,” he added after his introduction and greetings.  
  
Her facial expression shifted to that of seriousness, eyes now laced with sadness. “I’ve heard what happened in Tokyo,” she said quietly. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”  
  
“It’s quite all right,” Sho said. “Thank you.”  
  
“What can I do for you, Sakurai-san? I’ve heard that you’re an accountant.” She smiled apologetically at Sho’s momentary surprise. “The old ladies are quite knowledgeable.”  
  
“I’ve noticed,” Sho said. With a town as small as Yubiso, it was no wonder that word spread fast. He wondered how long it took for the townspeople to know that the eldest grandchild of the Sakurais was the only survivor of the recent earthquake from the family that had moved to the capital. “I’m afraid I have no official business concerning you, Ninomiya-san.”  
  
“Then perhaps my husband?” she asked with a knowing glint in her eye, and Sho understood that he was dealing with what must be a very smart woman. “To my knowledge, Kazu hasn’t been involved with any...questionable investments as of late.”  
  
“It’s not about any of your husband’s finances,” Sho assured her. “I know nothing of it, Ninomiya-san. Your husband has never been my client. In fact, I’ve never met him.” He inclined his head. “If I could take a bit of your time then I could state my business.”  
  
She seemed to trust him then, nodding to herself and stepping aside to let him in. “Will tea be fine?”  
  
“More than fine,” Sho said. “Thank you.”  
  
She led him to the kotatsu and laid a mat for him, and Sho waited patiently as he took in his surroundings. The Ninomiya household was a single-floor apartment, a bit cramped but looked very much lived in. He kept an eye out for any children, any little Ninomiyas that might come out and surprise him, but aside from the noises coming from the kitchen, there was nothing.  
  
“Kazu always returns before nightfall,” his wife explained when tea finally lay in steaming cups of porcelain between them. “If you have any questions for him, I can relay them to him for you.”  
  
“I was wondering about the nature of your husband’s work, Ninomiya-san,” Sho said honestly; there was no point being obtuse about it. If the townsfolk were indeed as gossipy as Ninomiya’s wife had implied, then word had already reached her that the Sakurai grandson had been asking about the orphanage for a few days now.  
  
“Kazu works for the orphanage,” his wife said evenly, as if she had practiced saying them before. “He’s good friends with Kazama-san, who takes him up the mountain and comes back for him before the sun sets. Do you know him?”  
  
“Kazama-san,” Sho repeated. The name was familiar, and it took a moment for him to remember. “Is he the same man who also works as a courier for the post office?”  
  
Ninomiya nodded. “Yes. He and Kazu share the same birthday, something that always made Kazu fuss, but it’s all in good fun.” Listening to her, it was evident that Ninomiya was fond of her husband. “What is it about Kazu’s work that Sakurai-san is curious about?”  
  
“The orphanage,” Sho said. He waited for any changes in Ninomiya’s wife but found none; she had been expecting the question. “I’m a bit confused about it.”  
  
“It’s up there if you follow the trail,” she told him.  
  
“So I’ve heard,” Sho affirmed. “But my grandparents told me there’s nothing up there. And yet your husband works there.”  
  
“He does,” Ninomiya said with a nod and a small smile, not elaborating further.  
  
“So it’s still in operation?” Sho asked.  
  
“I believe so.”  
  
Her answers were succinct and firm, and if she was lying, then she was very good at it. Sho was no expert, but he could detect no falsehoods in her tone.  
  
“Did Sakurai-san come to visit just to ask if the orphanage exists?” she asked after a moment passed between them. “You already knew my answer even before you knocked; you saw the nameplate by the door. You knew I would only tell you what you’ve already heard from certain people in town.” She paused, hands wrapped around her cup of tea that was now lukewarm at most. “Why are you really here, Sakurai-san?”  
  
“I’m looking for work,” he admitted simply, and that seemed to surprise her, if the slight lifting of her eyebrows were anything to go by.  
  
“Most of the businesses in town are already consulting you and seeking your expertise,” she said. “Unless you wish to add the orphanage to your list?”  
  
“Something like that,” Sho said. “I’ve heard that your husband does the groceries for the orphanage.” At her nod, he continued, “How does he take the goods up the mountain?”  
  
“Kazama-kun helps him,” she replied, just as Sho had thought.  
  
“So if I find Kazama-san,” Sho began, and Ninomiya’s wife flashed him another kind, understanding smile, “I can get to the mountain.”  
  
She nodded. “Kazama-kun is one of the few who’s willing to go up there. Most aren’t, especially now that it’s winter. The road is slippery, they say. But my husband still has to go there every morning, and Kazama-kun takes him there as always. If you’re looking for employment, I would suggest starting with Kazama-kun.”  
  
“I see,” Sho said. He finished his tea and inclined his head in thanks. “Thank you for your time today, Ninomiya-san. My sincerest apologies for having disturbed your lunch.”  
  
She ushered him to the door and waited until his feet were back in his shoes before she spoke once more. “If you ask the elderly, they will say that the orphanage has been abandoned. But there are some who know better, and they’re people close to your age.”  
  
When Sho faced her, she smiled at him. “You look very close to my age, Sakurai-san. And I’m assuming the person who told you to go here was not the old lady who sells fish in the market.”  
  
“No,” Sho agreed, “it wasn't.”  
  
“Some of them don’t think the orphanage is up there, and I can’t blame them for it. Most of them haven’t been to the mountain, after all,” she explained. “I believe Kazama-kun should be somewhere by the post office; he only leaves to pick up Kazu an hour or two before sundown.”  
  
“And you, Ninomiya-san,” Sho said, meeting her knowing gaze, “what do you think? You certainly believe the orphanage exists, so it is to my assumption that you’ve been there.”  
  
“I haven’t,” she said by the time Sho had crossed the threshold and was already in the corridor. “But I do know it’s still operational. I’m certain of it.”  
  
“How?” Sho asked, visibly confused. How could she sound so sure when she hadn’t even been there? Did she spend the last hour feeding him lies, seeing how gullible he was? She didn’t look like she embellished any of her words, and if she was telling him to go see one of the town’s couriers, it lowered the chances of her lying. “How do you know if you’ve never visited it?”  
  
“I’ve seen the children Kazu buys groceries for,” she said before inclining her head in farewell. “I wish you luck in finding work, Sakurai-san.”  
  
Sho could only nod before the door swung shut, leaving him staring at the wooden nameplate that hung beside it.  
  
Ninomiya.  
  
\--  
  
Sho located Kazama Shunsuke the following day, finding a man of slightly shorter stature than him. Kazama possessed a kind, friendly face, and Sho thought it was fitting for a courier to look as friendly and approachable as possible to make transactions easy and less eventful.  
  
After having introduced himself, Kazama led him to where his automobile was. It belonged to the post office, but since everyone in Yubiso knew each other, the postmaster didn’t mind that Kazama used it to fetch Ninomiya from the orphanage.  
  
“Taichi-san doesn’t mind because he likes Nino,” Kazama explained, and Sho quirked an eyebrow at the nickname. Kazama noticed. “Everyone calls Nino that way. It’s only the ladies who fancy him that call him otherwise.”  
  
“I see,” Sho said, nodding. “Kazama-san, I’m almost certain you’ve been expecting me since you already volunteered the information about your arrangement with Ninomiya-san.”  
  
“I did consider the possibility of us meeting,” Kazama affirmed. “When you first arrived in town, everyone talked about you. Your family has...a reputation here in Yubiso.”  
  
Sho was aware of this; his grandparents were considered elite in their status of living. Their house was ancestral and was situated in a land larger than the properties surrounding it, and they had fields upon fields in their name. Being a Sakurai in Yubiso was as good as telling people how much he could afford.  
  
Kazama inclined his head. “I’ve heard what happened in the capital. I’m very sorry for your loss.”  
  
Sho inclined his head in gratitude. He knew that Yubiso held a memorial at the wake of the event, mere days after the earthquake. After all, it wasn’t only the Sakurais who had lost someone. Some of the families in Yubiso had relatives in Tokyo as well, and the memorial had served to honor each and every one of them.  
  
“Kazama-san,” Sho said after a moment, “I think you already know what I’m about to ask you.”  
  
Kazama smiled. “Suzuki-san did share the story of how you met. It’s about the orphanage, right?” Kazama’s soft gaze moved to where the mountain was. “I bring Nino up there every day, and every day I come by to fetch him. I don’t know what else to tell you. I’ve never seen what’s inside.”  
  
“For starters, Kazama-san, I was hoping you could tell me what it looks like,” Sho coaxed.  
  
“It’s a three-storey building,” Kazama said. “The architecture is...quite unlike what I see usually, but then again, I’ve never left Gunma. Perhaps there are those like it in Tokyo.”  
  
Sho frowned. His grandfather had implied that the orphanage had been in existence since his youth. It was impossible for a building to possess Western features had that been the case.  
  
But Kazama didn’t look like he was lying.  
  
“What’s the building made of?” Sho asked.  
  
Kazama blinked, seemingly puzzled by the question, but he answered it anyway. “Brick, I think. I’m not that knowledgeable about architecture, Sakurai-san, I apologize. But from what I’ve seen on postcards sometimes when I make my deliveries, I think the closest approximation I can make is that it does bear similarities to the buildings you have seen in Tokyo.”  
  
“Three floors of it?” Sho clarified.  
  
Kazama nodded.  
  
“Very well,” he said. He supposed he could always see for himself. “How far up is it?”  
  
“Just a thirty-minute drive at most when the road is slippery,” Kazama said. “Why? Do you have business there?”  
  
“Something like that,” Sho said. He held his briefcase in one hand and gestured towards Kazama’s automobile. “How much for the fare?”  
  
\--  
  
Kazama remained chatty during the drive, telling Sho about the town gossip that everyone knew from the poultry farm owner who had lost a sizable portion of his savings to gambling to the fruits vendor who always sold sour mangoes despite her insistence that her products were sweet.  
  
In his stories, Sho noted the complete, deliberate absence of anything regarding their destination.  
  
Despite his omission, Kazama retained his friendly demeanor and Sho returned it, until they reached the top of the hill that now overlooked the town, and Sho could hardly look away from the view.  
  
He’d always been terrified of heights, but he couldn’t deny how serene the town looked from the mountain. The town was covered in snow now, but Sho could still see the people moving about.  
  
“The town does look a little too peaceful from up here, doesn’t it?” Kazama remarked.  
  
Sho could only nod. “Like they have no knowledge of whatever lies outside.”  
  
“A little more and we’ll see the gates,” Kazama told him, and Sho focused back on the road. From the wide clearing that formed a path that led to town, the road became smaller the further they went up. More and more weeds occupied the sides of the path as they ascended the mountain, and soon Sho could no longer see the town below. Fog replaced it as the winter chill set in, prompting Sho to raise the lapels of his coat higher, now concealing half of his face.  
  
“Nino told me that the orphanage remains warm even in the winter,” Kazama said. “I suppose it’s what the brick does.” He gestured forward, and Sho saw the outline of a gate, tall enough that the metal touched the trees that surrounded them. “That’s the orphanage.”  
  
The gates were nothing special in Sho’s opinion. Made of brass and rusting on certain spots, the gold paint faded and flaking. It did serve to add a more mysterious air to it, however.  
  
Kazama stopped by the gates and turned off the automobile’s engine. “I’m afraid this is as far as I can take you, Sakurai-san.” He almost sounded apologetic. “I can only take Nino in front of the building every morning because that’s when they’re expecting him, so they leave the gates open. And by the time I come back for him, he’s always waiting outside the gates.”  
  
Sho nodded. “I understand. Thank you very much, Kazama-san.”  
  
Kazama waved off his attempt to pay. “Your grandparents always tipped nicely whenever I had something for them. This is the least I could do. If you need to come back down the mountain, I will return in a few hours for Nino. I trust your business would have concluded by then.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Sho said, though it was him being optimistic. He climbed out of the vehicle and wrapped his coat tighter around his form; it was colder here than it was in town. When he exhaled, he could see his breath fogging.  
  
“Good luck, Sakurai-san,” Kazama said in farewell, and Sho waited until he could no longer see the black automobile of the Yubiso postal service before he looked around for a bell he could ring.  
  
Having found one, Sho rang it thrice and waited in front of the gate. Up ahead, he could see the building as Kazama had described: the Western architecture was hard to miss. It was strange that an edifice with a modern design had a doorbell that wasn’t electric, but Sho thought it did complement the brass gates.  
  
It must be a minute or two before he saw someone leave the building through the front doors. More than enough time had passed for Sho to make his first impressions: whoever owned this place had money, and they weren’t embarrassed about it. There was a considerable distance between the building and the gates, and that distance had a withering garden that had marble benches and statues. A fountain stood in front of the building, the water frozen, and whoever had come out to meet him at the gates didn’t seem as bothered as Sho when it came to the cold.  
  
When the man reached the gates, he didn’t open them. He had to be around Sho’s age, his expression friendly and eyes bright. He made for a handsome man and Sho wondered if this was the Ninomiya that he’d heard so much about.  
  
“Good morning,” the man greeted. “Are you lost, sir? The nearest town is down the mountain if you follow that path. But I’m afraid it’s perhaps a two-hour walk in this weather.”  
  
Sho returned the greeting, followed by, “I’m not lost, thank you. I’m Sakurai Sho. I’m an accountant. I’ve been told there’s an orphanage in the mountains. Am I in the right place?”  
  
The man’s surprise was momentary but hard to miss. “May I know Sakurai-san’s business here?”  
  
Sho noticed that the man didn’t return his introduction. His smile had vanished, replaced by caution as he now stood directly in front of Sho’s view, as if he could conceal the massive building behind him. “Yes, well.” He was now embarrassed; he didn’t imagine he’d be explaining his intentions at the gate while he was freezing. “I’m looking for a job.”  
  
Both of the man’s eyebrows lift in shock. “A job.”  
  
Sho nodded. “I worked as an accountant in Tokyo, and when I moved back here, I became the accountant of most of the businesses in town. I’ve been told there’s an orphanage in the mountain that might also need my services.” The last part was a lie, of course, but it couldn’t hurt to say that.  
  
The man’s eyes narrowed. Then he scanned Sho’s form, eyes lingering on the briefcase that Sho held in one hand. “Kazapon drove you here.”  
  
“If you mean Kazama-san, then yes, he did,” Sho affirmed. The nickname was surprising, but it would suggest familiarity, and perhaps close association that Kazama must have with this man would help Sho's case.  
  
“We’re not really looking for an accountant,” the man said, and Sho could feel his gut sink, but then he heard the metal turning as the man opened the gates.  
  
“But then again,” the man continued when Sho was finally welcomed inside the premises, “it’s not really up to me.” He shut the gates as soon as Sho went through them, offering a gloved hand for Sho to shake. His grip was firm. “Aiba Masaki.”  
  
“A pleasure, Aiba-san,” Sho said carefully; his teeth were beginning to chatter. “I don’t suppose you’re the director?”  
  
“No, I’m the groundskeeper and the occasional cook,” Aiba said with a laugh so pure and infectious that it almost warmed Sho. He led the way forward, and when he spoke next, they were inside the building that had polished wooden doors and a completely Western interior inside.  
  
Sho noted that it was very warm inside.  
  
“If anyone makes the decisions around here, it’s the director,” Aiba finished explaining.  
  
“I see,” Sho nodded. “Is he available? Will I be able to speak with him?”  
  
Aiba blinked. “He’s never available.”  
  
Something like anxiety kicked in Sho’s mind at those words, and now that the cold was no longer a pressing concern, he noted the lack of noises in the building. Lamps remained lit, a fire was running in the hearth by the sitting area Aiba had led him to, but he could hear nothing else aside from the occasional crackle of flames.  
  
What kind of orphanage had no children?  
  
Warily, he shot a glance to where the doors were. “This is the orphanage the townspeople mentioned, yes?”  
  
Aiba nodded. “It is.”  
  
“The orphanage has a director,” he continued.  
  
“It does.”  
  
“And I’m never meeting him?” Sho clarified.  
  
“Never,” Aiba affirmed. “But it’s up to him if we need an accountant, so if you’re ready, let's have a chat. I’ll inform him of whatever services you may have, and if that works for him, I suppose you can add the orphanage to your growing list of clientele.” Aiba’s nose scrunched in thought. “We do need someone to look over our expenses; it always balloons to an unmanageable amount during the holidays.” He flashed Sho a gorgeous smile that lit up his whole face. “Shall we?”  
  
\--  
  
It was an unconventional job interview, if Sho was being polite. Aiba had asked very few questions that were related to accounting and how Sho would manage the orphanage’s finances, in the event that the director decided to hire him. Instead, Aiba had asked about Tokyo, the life outside of Gunma, and expressed his condolences upon learning of Sho’s loss.  
  
Sho was grateful for it; Aiba Masaki seemed like a sincere, respectable young man. But he always had this look in his eyes, like he knew what Sho had been about to say before Sho said it.  
  
Perhaps the cold had addled Sho’s mind a bit, but by the end of the interview, he found that all he knew about his possible place of employment was that there were approximately sixty-two people that lived here and needed their accounts managed from time-to-time.  
  
“Sixty-two,” Sho repeated. That was a lot of work. If sixty-two people lived here, how come there were no traces of them anywhere?  
  
Aiba merely nodded. “Not all the time, of course. If the director decides to hire you, I will be asking you to look at a few accounts from time to time. That is excluding the orphanage’s finances as well as the director’s.”  
  
It took a moment, but Sho finally understood. “The director finances this institution, doesn’t he?”  
  
“The director values his privacy,” Aiba explained. “And that extends to the children. I’m sure you’ve asked around in town and received varying claims regarding the institution. The director did his very best to achieve whatever secrecy that surrounds this place, and he’d like to keep it that way.”  
  
An orphanage that operated privately, housing sixty-two children that couldn’t be seen anywhere. Something didn’t add up, and Sho tried to soothe his growing nerves the longer he remained here. If one child could simply just pop up from the corner, his worries would vanish.  
  
But the longer he waited, the more he realized that none would come.  
  
The postman had been telling the truth. He’d never seen the children because there were no children to see.  
  
Sho cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Aiba-san, but I can’t help being curious.”  
  
Aiba simply nodded like he’d been expecting what Sho was about to say. Perhaps he was; he always looked like he knew what had been on Sho’s mind the entire time they’d been here in the sitting area.  
  
“The sixty-two accounts you’ve mentioned pertain to the children housed in this institution, yes?” Sho asked.  
  
Aiba nodded.  
  
“I don’t see them,” Sho said, trying to do away with the tremor in his voice.  
  
“It’s too early for them to be around,” Aiba said simply like it made sense. It didn’t.  
  
Sho opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the presence of a man entering his line of vision. This man was pale, his hair a mess, and he looked younger than Sho.  
  
“Aiba-shi,” the man who had just arrived said, “you’ve run out of eggs.”  
  
Aiba shot an annoyed glance at the man, seemingly forgetting that Sho was there. “Isn’t it your job to make sure we don’t? Mori-san loves tamagoyaki; I’ll never hear the end of it.”  
  
The man shrugged. “Look, it’s not my fault the poultry farm had to sell half of their chickens to pay off a debt. I asked around and they said the next produce would probably be by next week.” The man finally noticed they weren’t alone and met Sho’s eyes, and after doing a quick once-over, he nodded to himself.  
  
“The accountant,” the man said without waiting for Aiba’s introduction.  
  
“Ah yes,” Aiba said; he seemed to have remembered that Sho was present. “This is Sakurai Sho-san. Have you met? You seem to know him.”  
  
“My wife met him,” the man said, and Sho finally knew who he was. “I’m the other Ninomiya. Pleased to meet you.”  
  
Sho noted that, indeed, Ninomiya possessed a youthful, almost innocent face. But his smile had a mischievous ring to it like he was seconds away from saying a scathing remark. Sho understood the appeal Ninomiya’s face had posed; it wouldn’t be difficult to be charmed by that face.  
  
Sho inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I’ve been in your wife’s care the other day, and I apologize if that has inconvenienced you in any way.”  
  
“He’s the one I told you about, Aiba-shi,” Ninomiya said, glancing at Aiba now. “The one who was looking for me.”  
  
Sho waved his hands to clear himself of any suspicion. “It’s really not like that.”  
  
“He’s not a debt collector, Nino,” Aiba said. “Why would he look for you?”  
  
Ninomiya frowned. “I have no standing debts with anyone, I’ll have you know. But now that the person’s here, let’s ask him. Why were you asking about my job, Sakurai-san? Is it hard to believe?”  
  
“It’s not that,” Sho said, and at the look Ninomiya threw him, he elaborated, “I was more concerned whether or not the orphanage really existed.” He made a show of looking around. “Aiba-san has confirmed this, of course, but I’ve been here for nearly three hours and I am yet to see a child anywhere.”  
  
“Try again in a few hours,” Ninomiya said, and Aiba shushed him.  
  
“Sakurai-san,” Aiba said in what seemed to be a desperate attempt to get Sho’s attention, “may I have whatever’s in the briefcase that you brought with you? I believe it’s something that bears your credentials, and with that in hand, perhaps the director is more likely to consider hiring you.”  
  
The distraction worked; Sho was now retrieving his résumé from his briefcase. He handed the papers to Aiba, who accepted it with grace. Aiba scanned them in silence, smiling at certain parts that Sho hoped was a good sign.  
  
But then again, if things worked in his favor, would he want to work here? The very idea of an orphanage that had no children in sight was suspicious enough, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Ninomiya knew something that he didn’t.  
  
“Keio?” Ninomiya asked, now that he was hovering over Aiba’s shoulder and reading Sho’s résumé.  
  
Sho nodded.  
  
“I didn’t graduate from anywhere as prestigious and he hired me,” Ninomiya said to Aiba, whose grin only broadened. “What’s going to stop him from hiring this one? He’s got a waistcoat on, Aiba-shi.”  
  
“I know,” Aiba said. “You do know he can hear you, right?”  
  
“And I don’t really care,” Ninomiya said, gaze meeting Sho’s. “I had the same concerns as you before. So I understand. If the director decides to accept your services, you’ll know what’s going on in time. I know my words probably don’t mean much, but as payment for visiting my wife unannounced, perhaps you should listen to my advice.”  
  
“Advice?” Sho asked, frowning.  
  
“Save the questions for later,” Ninomiya said. “Nothing here is illegal, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. Rest assured that whatever’s going on here, it’s the least you’ve expected.”  
  
From his conversations with the townsfolk, Sho was under the impression that Ninomiya was well-liked: popular with the elderly and friends with those around his age. He seemed like a man with a sharp wit now that Sho finally met him. He was easygoing and comfortable with Aiba, and Kazama spoke of him in a manner that highlighted their friendship.  
  
“And in the event that the director decides that he doesn’t need an accountant?” Sho asked.  
  
This time, it was Aiba who answered, and his words confirmed Sho’s suspicions.  
  
The secret of the orphanage depended on its director.  
  
“Then you’ll move on without knowing what’s going on here.”  
  
\--  
  
He returned to town along with Ninomiya and Kazama a few minutes before nightfall, and before they parted ways, Ninomiya flashed him a salute.  
  
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything from Aiba-shi,” Ninomiya promised.  
  
Sho appreciated it, but he had to ask. “How?”  
  
Ninomiya pointed at Kazama. “I’ll tell him to find you.” To Kazama: “You know where he lives, right?”  
  
Kazama merely nodded. It was no surprise that he knew; in Yubiso, everyone knew each other for years.  
  
“See you whenever, Sho-chan,” Ninomiya said, taking off in the direction of the izakaya, and Sho didn’t let the overly familiar nickname irk him. Everyone at work had used to call him that.  
  
Sho-chan. It was a nickname he only heard from his grandparents now that everyone who had addressed him that way was gone.  
  
He walked home that night, basking in the solitude as he let the memories of the life he'd had in Tokyo come to him once more. If the earthquake hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t be here. He’d thought he’d settle down in Tokyo, build a life there, and only see Gunma during the holidays.  
  
But everything had changed. He was in Gunma now and the chances of him leaving were very slim. He was surprised by how much he liked the quiet life he now had. He thought he’d always prefer the noise Tokyo had to offer, but after the earthquake, all the noises had been of despair and death that somehow found their way to him at night.  
  
At night, he dreamt sometimes. He dreamt of fires, of the earth trembling and everything crumbling, of his family being buried beneath the rubble and ruin, and how he couldn’t save them. He always woke up crying, curled up and alone, praying to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t dream again.  
  
The prayers always went unanswered.  
  
He knew his grandparents could hear him whenever he’d dreamt. The way his grandmother hugged him the morning after each nightmare spoke volumes.  
  
And so Sho decided that he couldn’t burden them anymore, not in their age. If he got the job and it paid as well as he’d been expecting, he’d start looking for lodging in town. Preferably somewhere close to the post office. His grandparents’ house was a few minutes' walk from the town, and while Sho wasn’t complaining about the distance, he realized it’d be easier for him to check the bookkeeping for his clients if he lived somewhere closer.  
  
On his own. He’d been living on his own back in Tokyo, and perhaps that was why he’d survived. The district where his workplace and apartment had been had suffered relatively few damages compared to others.  
  
Here in Gunma, he couldn’t see why he shouldn’t do the same. He was certain he’d hear objections from his grandparents, but they couldn’t really stop him once he set his mind onto something.  
  
Thanks to the hereditary Sakurai stubbornness.  
  
\--  
  
Kazama found him buried in three ledgers from three intertwining business ventures that his grandparents owned shares in, two days after Sho’s rather impulsive hike up the mountain.  
  
Kazama’s expression gave nothing away, apologizing for the disturbance he might be causing because of the sudden visit. Sho didn’t mind; they weren’t in his grandparents’ house anyway, instead in one of the offices of the dye business Sho had been asked to look at.  
  
“Nino told me to find you,” Kazama said. “I would’ve done it sooner, but he only told me after I drove him to the orphanage.” A shrug. “Perhaps he thinks I don’t have any deliveries today.”  
  
“If I’m keeping you from your work, Kazama-san, then please don’t feel obligated to stay on my behalf,” Sho said before tilting his head in question. “Unless?”  
  
“According to Nino, I’m supposed to take you to the orphanage for an eleven o’clock meeting with Aiba-chan,” Kazama said. He glanced at the ledgers and checked the time. “I will return fifteen minutes before ten. I’ll leave you to your work.”  
  
Sho nodded, thanking the man. He still had no idea if he was hired, but he supposed there was only one way to find out.  
  
He turned back to the ledgers and redid certain computations.  
  
\--  
  
The drive this time was colder, the wind less forgiving as it blew down the mountain, carrying snowflakes and the unyielding winter chill that Sho had missed in his youth. His teeth were chattering and each attempt to talk was accompanied by the fogging of his breath.  
  
“Are winters here always like this?” he asked Kazama, who hummed and didn’t take his eyes off the road. The path was more slippery now, buried in a trail of thickening snow. If it weren’t for the leftover tracks Kazama’s automobile had left earlier in the morning, Sho would hardly know where the path was.  
  
“The mountain becomes buried in snow before the year ends,” Kazama told him. “That makes the spring more beautiful, though.” He sneaked a glance in Sho’s direction before continuing, “I guess winter in Tokyo is never as cold as this?”  
  
“Not really,” Sho said. He was wearing gloves, his body wrapped in a thick cloak that had an accompanying scarf, and still, he could feel the cold seep through his form. “So it’ll take a while for me to get used to it.”  
  
Kazama hummed in agreement. “Don’t worry, Sakurai-san. The manor is always warm, or so Nino tells me.”  
  
Sho frowned; he hadn’t heard anyone else call the orphanage a manor, but he supposed it was a more fitting description for the architecture the edifice possessed. “Does the manor have a name then? Before it became the orphanage.”  
  
Kazama shrugged. “The orphanage has been there for as long as I can remember; I grew up listening to tales about it. My grandfather, god rest his soul, once said that the one who built the manor had named it after his wife, but we don’t really know. In the post office, every package addressed to the director is labeled Great Pasture Manor, and that has caught on.”  
  
“This is the first time I’m hearing this,” Sho admitted. He found it strange that the locals of Yubiso merely referred to the place as ‘the orphanage’ with an accompanying skepticism and vagueness in their words. If the place had a name, why didn’t the people use it?  
  
“It’s really not that surprising,” Kazama assured him. “Only the people who worked in the post office knew about this, after all. And I’m sure you’ve noticed, Sakurai-san, but the townspeople are not fond of speculating whether or not the orphanage is still in operation. They would rather talk about their fellow townsfolk.”  
  
This, Sho had noticed. He admitted as much. “Everyone in town knew when I moved back.”  
  
Kazama nodded. “Nobody cared about a manor hidden in the mountains when the Sakurai heir returned to Gunma. I’m sure you understand.”  
  
“I do, Kazama-san,” Sho said, eyes now on the road. Living people were always more interesting than places of old, the ones that long existed but were forgotten in time.  
  
He stared ahead, further up the mountain slope, where the winds were stronger and the nights must be colder, to where the brass gates covered in snowflakes surely were.  
  
“I do understand,” he said with finality, and Kazama said nothing more.  
  
\--  
  
An appointment meant that Aiba was waiting for them, and unlike Sho’s first visit, the gates were open and the automobile was allowed to park directly in front of the manor. Aiba had been waiting outside for who knew how long, and unlike Sho and Kazama, he didn’t appear to be too affected by the climate around him.  
  
The smile Aiba had was brighter than the sun, and Sho couldn’t help smiling back when Aiba directed it to him. “Sakurai-san,” Aiba greeted, grin broadening, “you’ve made it.” To Kazama: “Thank you for bringing him here.”  
  
“I will head back to town, Aiba-chan,” Kazama said in farewell, nodding to Sho before putting his automobile in reverse. “Sakurai-san, I will be here before nightfall to pick you up and Nino.”  
  
Sho nodded back, waving his hand in farewell. “Thank you, Kazama-san. I’ll see you soon.”  
  
He and Aiba waited until the automobile was out of the gates, and Aiba ushered him inside. Sho hesitated, casting a wary glance at the still-open gates.  
  
“Please step inside the house, Sakurai-san,” Aiba told him. “I’ll take care of the gates while you make yourself comfortable. There’s a fire running in the study in the East Wing. I will meet you there shortly.”  
  
Sho obeyed, dusting off snowflakes from his hair and coat before making himself comfortable in the study as Aiba had suggested. The fire was a soothing warmth that he found himself sighing at, and he took off his gloves to warm his hands by the fire as he waited for Aiba to return.  
  
In the silence that was disturbed only by the occasional crackling of flames, Sho listened. He listened to the house breathe, for every little creak of the wooden floors that might signal movement. He kept an eye out for any sudden appearances, for little children popping out of corners and furniture, but like the first time, there was none.  
  
The house was silent. It would’ve been comfortable if the thought wasn’t so disturbing, that this was truly an orphanage that had no children despite being big enough to house around seventy of them.  
  
Then Sho remembered what Aiba had told him before: the sixty-two accounts. Sixty-two people he had never seen, not even their shadows.  
  
“Would you like some tea?” Aiba’s voice suddenly said, and Sho nearly jumped in fright.  
  
Aiba laughed, waving a hand. “I’m sorry. Was it that surprising?”  
  
Sho still had his heart in his throat, his face now too hot thanks to the sudden rush of blood to his head. He didn’t hear Aiba come. There had been no sound at all now that he thought about it—no footsteps, no shutting of the sturdy, oak doors. The man had moved so silently and stealthily that Sho was now left wondering how he’d done it.  
  
He cleared his throat to save face. “Tea sounds lovely, thank you.”  
  
Aiba flashed him another blinding smile and walked to the nearby table that had a pot of tea. “Nino acquired this recently from town: a set of fresh chamomile tea leaves. I’ve yet to try it.” He poured one for Sho and one for himself, handing Sho a porcelain cup with a saucer.  
  
At the look Sho had thrown on the ceramic, Aiba chuckled. “The director commissioned this particular tea set from Arita. I thought it’d be fitting to use it for this meeting since he’s not here.”  
  
Sho accepted the tea, balancing the saucer between his hands and on his lap. He waited for Aiba to take the seat across from him before he spoke. “You said the director is never available.”  
  
“Yes,” was all Aiba said. He sipped his tea slowly as if he was judging how it tasted.  
  
“And yet this meeting was held in his knowledge?” Sho asked.  
  
Aiba set down his teacup with a small, barely noticeable clink. “I’ve spoken with the director the other day regarding the possibility of hiring an accountant to help manage the orphanage’s finances.” Aiba nodded, seemingly to himself. “It was a lengthy discussion. The director had concerns, of course, especially regarding hiring a stranger to review sixty-seven accounts, including the orphanage’s and the director’s finances.” Aiba met his eyes this time. “Your credentials exceeded his expectations, but you must know, Sakurai-san, that the director is not a very trusting individual.”  
  
“And what changed his mind, Aiba-san?” Sho asked; he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t getting the job. He was somewhat confident about that.  
  
Aiba grinned, his expression now carrying amusement. “I told him he can’t do everything. Especially when he’s not around very often. I don’t know what impression you may have of the director, Sakurai-san, since you haven’t met him, but he listens to me. I oversee the things he can’t, after all.”  
  
Aiba stood then, setting down his tea at the nearby table before retrieving a ledger that he handed to Sho. Sho set down his tea before taking it, and at Aiba’s nod, he opened it.  
  
“This orphanage holds three celebrations for the month of December: Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve,” Aiba informed him. “Three celebrations that we have to budget and prepare for, and what you’re looking at is the director’s breakdown of what he deemed to be necessary for the three separate occasions. I believe he had them outlined separately for easier understanding.”  
  
It’s not the outlining that made it a little difficult to understand in Sho’s opinion—it was the handwriting. Messy and small characters that went past the paper margins and hardly followed a straight line, and it was the same for all the six sheets that he was looking at. Whoever the director was, clearly, their thoughts ran so fast that their hands couldn’t keep up.  
  
Sho turned back to Aiba after a terse moment. “What does the director want me to do?”  
  
“He wants everything to be according to what he wants,” Aiba said. “He’s a very exacting person. But he also doesn’t want to go over the budget, in case something unprecedented happens next year.” Aiba went back to sipping his tea before continuing, just as Sho flipped to the next page. “But for starters, I believe he wants you to sign a contract.”  
  
The said contract was the page Sho now looked at, and he tried not to overthink how Aiba simply knew. The man was friendly, kind, and knew people from the town who referred to him in an affectionate manner, but there was something about him. It was as if he always knew things before Sho himself did, and that was a bit unsettling despite the honesty and openness Aiba himself seemed to show him.  
  
Sho carefully read the contract, and all his worries about Aiba Masaki were now replaced by what he was reading.  
  
“‘Any work must be completed before five in the afternoon and all employees must be out of the orphanage’s premises before nightfall,’” Sho read aloud, his eyebrows lifting in question. “‘Any unfinished tasks may be continued the following morning.’”  
  
“If you have any questions, you may ask them,” Aiba said.  
  
“Essentially I am not allowed to stay beyond working hours. Most especially at night,” Sho concluded.  
  
“You are not,” Aiba confirmed. “Nino doesn’t. He signed almost the same thing. It’s why Kazapon always makes sure to pick him up.”  
  
Sho read on. “‘The employee is not allowed to arrive earlier than the specified working hours and will have their weekends free.’” Before Aiba could speak, Sho remarked, “This is rather hospitable.”  
  
“We’re not in Tokyo, Sakurai-san,” Aiba reminded him. “The director will not overwork you or Nino, or anyone else employed here.”  
  
“That’s not what I’m saying, Aiba-san,” Sho said, unable to help himself.  
  
Aiba inclined his head, studying him. “Then what are you saying, Sakurai-san?”  
  
“I’m only allowed to step foot in the premises as long as the sun is up,” Sho concluded with confidence, and Aiba’s answering grin spoke volumes at how correct his assumption must be. “Why?”  
  
“For your safety,” Aiba replied.  
  
“My safety,” Sho repeated. “From what exactly?”  
  
Before Aiba could reply, something creaked over their heads, followed by movement. Sho looked up the ceiling on instinct, but the sound was followed by nothing else. When he turned back, Aiba was looking at him.  
  
“Nino, I thought you said the tea was supposed to help?” Aiba said without looking away from Sho, and from the threshold that led to the lobby, Sho heard a grumble followed by Ninomiya’s unmistakable voice.  
  
“That was what they said in the market!” Ninomiya called out. “Hell if I knew exactly what chamomile does to the body, Aiba-shi! I would be a merchant if that was the case!” Outside the threshold, Sho could hear movement, which was undoubtedly made by Ninomiya now that he made his presence known.  
  
Aiba checked his pocket watch. “The sun won’t be down for another six hours.” He turned back to Sho, expression giving nothing away. “Did the noise bother you? I’m sorry if it did; it’s usually quiet here.”  
  
“I’ve noticed,” Sho said, throwing a cautious look towards the ceiling once more.  
  
“But that does answer one of your lingering questions, I believe,” Aiba said, and when Sho focused back on him, the pocket watch had been tucked away and the man resumed sipping his tea with his legs crossed.  
  
“My lingering questions?” Sho clarified.  
  
Aiba nodded. “Whether or not there are other people here besides me and Nino.”  
  
Sho finally understood that this was the confirmation he’d been waiting for. Whoever made that noise lived in this house, and from Aiba’s words earlier, the chamomile tea was intended to help them in some way. Perhaps a sleep aid?  
  
“The people that live here,” Sho began, choosing his words carefully, “they only come out at night, do they?”  
  
Aiba’s expression betrayed nothing, but Sho knew he had to be right. There was no other possibility.  
  
“Why is that?” Sho couldn’t help himself asking, the ledger lying opened on his lap. His tea lay untouched at his feet, but he paid it no mind. No tea could calm his nerves now that he had somewhat of an incomplete explanation about the inner workings of this orphanage.  
  
“I’ve told you,” Aiba said simply, face half-concealed behind the teacup.  
  
At the questioning look Sho had for him once more, Aiba took another gracious sip from his tea.  
  
When Aiba spoke this time, the airy lilt of his voice had disappeared. Every syllable he said sent a chill that seeped through Sho’s bones more than the unforgiving climate outside.  
  
“It’s for your safety, Sakurai-san,” Aiba told him, “as the director would never want to cause harm to any person under his employment.” His demeanor shifted back to friendliness, his expression patient. “If you need more time to consider, I'll understand.”  
  
A part of Sho was telling him to return the ledger, pack up, thank Aiba Masaki for his time, and to put everything behind him. But there was also a part of him that wanted to know what was happening in this house and its relation to the town nearest to it. The more he knew, the more inadequate his new piece of knowledge felt. There was something more here, something bigger, and Sho wanted to understand.  
  
He opened his briefcase and retrieved his pen, affixing his signature and stamp at the bottom of the contract.  
  
When he looked at Aiba, the man held out a hand between them, and Sho shook it. Aiba wasn’t as warm as he expected despite sitting close to the fire; his touch was cooler than Sho’s own, but his grip was firm and strong like before.  
  
“Please keep the orphanage in your favor then, Sakurai-san,” Aiba said.  
  
Sho could only nod. “Likewise.”  
  
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he had made a wrong decision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is finished. But my word count is a little unbelievable so it'll take some time for me to post all of it. But rest assured, it's done and I won't leave this hanging.
> 
> Anyway the fun thing about googling stuff for this AU is the number of times I had to search "when was [insert whatever] invented in japan" only to get the vaguest responses. As always, if there are any historical inaccuracies, please forgive me. I did my best.

With the orphanage added to his clientele, Sho found himself assigning the weekends to settle any affairs he had in town. The local businesses were easier to manage than the orphanage.  
  
As its accountant, Sho was tasked to manage the finances of sixty-seven accounts overall, including the drafting of budget proposals for the December celebrations. In his first week, he became familiar with the names of the people who lived in the manor, though he had no faces to attach to them: Mori-san whose birthday coincided with Christmas, Iwasa-san who had more money than Sho had seen on anyone, Kobayakawa-san whose savings went to procuring imported and expensive seeds.  
  
Aiba’s explanation for it was “Kobayakawa-san has a green thumb; whatever grew in the gardens is because of their efforts. It’s their hobby,” and Sho decided to leave it at that. It wasn’t his business how people spent their money. His business was helping said people manage their money so they could spend it on whatever they chose.  
  
Having access to his clients’ funds only made Sho harbor more questions than he’d had before. The sixty-two people who lived in Great Pasture Manor somehow had a generational wealth of their own, and their expenses were very specific. As the orphanage’s accountant, Sho kept track of where the money of these people was going, and he discovered most of it went to Ninomiya.  
  
Ninomiya, who worked as the orphanage’s grocer.  
  
Digging through the documents Aiba had given him access to, Sho found that Ninomiya’s trips to town weren’t as simple as he’d initially thought. If Ninomiya was shopping for the orphanage, it meant that he was shopping for _every_ individual that lived in it.  
  
Sho remembered the grocer back then and the story of Ninomiya procuring ten bottles of wine in one go. It only took a bit of digging, and sure enough, one of the accounts he now had access to dedicated a certain portion of their savings to liquor.  
  
“You’re shopping for the people here,” was how he approached the topic one day when he was absolutely certain of his deductions and Ninomiya was grumbling about the cold while they were in the study Sho had been provided with. “People who have very specific tastes at times.”  
  
Ninomiya shrugged. “What did you think I was doing? What did those people in town tell you, Sho-chan?”  
  
“Things that led me to wrong assumptions,” Sho said, choosing to be vague. “I apologize. I initially thought you were simply...doing errands for the orphanage as a whole.”  
  
Ninomiya waved off his apology. “I’d rather look for an oddly specific and almost obscure type of tea leaves than do your job.” He smiled. “I can’t imagine preparing a document to keep track of all these expenses. Aiba-shi told me that you’re handling the director’s finances as well, and all I know is, whenever I shop for the guy, he always asks for things I’ve never heard of.”  
  
“Have you met the director?” Sho asked. “Your wife told me she’s met the children who live here.”  
  
Ninomiya laughed. “Did she say that? Well, she got you, Sho-chan. I’ve shown her a copy of a portrait that the kids commissioned a while back, pointed out who’s who, and I guess that does count as her meeting them.” He snorted in amusement. “Why are you curious about the director? He’s not loaning money illegally, is he?”  
  
Sho shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. I just think he’s the most mysterious one here, that’s all.”  
  
Ninomiya looked at him with a seriousness that surprised him. “What do you think what’s going on here, Sho-chan? You’ve been here for a while; I’m sure you’ve discovered the answers to some of your questions thanks to all the papers you have on your desk. One of them included the nature of my job. Which I don’t mind, but I can’t help being curious about what you really wish to know. So what do you think is going on here?”  
  
“You called them children,” Sho noted.  
  
It was Ninomiya’s turn to be surprised, his frown deepening. “They’re kids.” He made an estimate of their height with his hand positioned a little away from him. “Most of them are about this tall.”  
  
“Aiba-san never refers to them as children,” Sho told him. “In fact, when Aiba-san and I talk about the owners of these accounts, he’s always referring to them with ‘-san’. Never with ‘-chan’ or ‘-kun’.”  
  
“They’re kids,” Ninomiya said once more.  
  
“Kids who all happened to possess generational wealth that spanned decades?” Sho asked pointedly. “I’ve seen the accounts. Some of them are extravagant in their spending, and it’s likely because they have so much money they don’t quite know what to do with it. How did these children have that much money? And if they’re children as you say, why were you purchasing alcohol for them?”  
  
Ninomiya leaned back on the plush chair, cheek now plopped against his fist. “It's not my business to know who drinks all the wine. I just buy it because that's my job.”  
  
“But you know something I don’t,” Sho acknowledged. “Something that explains all of these things. These people—the sixty-three people who live here with Aiba-san including the director—where did they get this much money that they’re able to operate privately at this scale? I am now aware that whenever these people want something from town, they ask you, and they provide the money for it. The orphanage’s funds are saved for the basic necessities, but any personal needs are addressed by each person individually.” He paused, throwing an unconvinced look at Ninomiya’s direction. “I don’t know what kind of children live here, but the children I know are creating snowmen and having snowball fights in town and not allocating a portion of their wealth to rare seeds or books.”  
  
“Or wine,” Ninomiya added with a smile.  
  
Sho inclined his head in response.  
  
Ninomiya looked thoughtful for a moment. “Your contract didn’t explain things, did it?”  
  
Sho shook his head. “I only know that I’m not allowed here by nightfall and that whoever lives here comes out at night. The latter was implied by Aiba-san.”  
  
“How about this, Sho-chan,” Ninomiya offered with a grin that told Sho he would either like what Ninomiya would say or he would only have further questions after listening to Ninomiya, “I’ll answer one question—just one—and you find out the rest on your own?”  
  
“You’re not going to help me?” Sho asked, slightly appalled though he had been expecting it.  
  
Ninomiya laughed. “When I took the job, no one explained anything to me. I found out in time. I signed the same contract, I read the same rules. But everything else—” he gestured around them for effect, “—I looked for the answers on my own. You seem smarter than me, so I think you can do it.”  
  
“You’ll answer one question in exchange for what?” Sho asked this time; there had to be a catch. Ninomiya was that kind of person: baiting people and giving them only a taste of what they want. It was what made him a compelling person—one never quite knew what he had in mind.  
  
“Well, you can stop being formal and call me Nino,” Ninomiya said. “It puts me off. Everyone in town calls me Nino and everyone up here is the same except for you. We go to work together and go home at the same time; wouldn’t you say it’s about time you drop the formality?”  
  
Sho considered his options and found himself agreeable to the idea. “All right,” he acquiesced, much to Ninomiya—Nino’s—amusement. “Nino.”  
  
Nino hummed in question. “What would you like to know?”  
  
Sho thought about it. He could ask about why a big fraction of the orphanage’s expenses was attributed to poultry, enough to last a household this massive for six months, and yet the budget was allocated every month. He could ask why the town harbored mixed beliefs regarding the orphanage’s existence. He could even ask about the identity of the mysterious director, and he was convinced Nino had an idea or two about the man judging from his answers earlier.  
  
In the end, Sho settled for the most pressing one.  
  
“Why is it dangerous for us to remain here by nightfall?” It wasn’t explicitly stated in the contract, but Aiba himself heavily implied it. And for weeks, that was the one that had concerned Sho the most.  
  
Nino appeared to choose his words before speaking. “I didn’t think you’d go with that, to be quite honest. But I’ll answer: you did agree to call me Nino.” He motioned for Sho to lean closer and Sho did despite the space separating them.  
  
When Nino spoke once more, he was leaning forward as well, elbows resting on his knees as his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You see, Sho-chan, the people who live here, the people you’ve been curious about?”  
  
Sho nodded, and Nino smiled. “They’re not human.”  
  
\--  
  
The next time Sho came to, he took a considerable step back from Nino, and he stood frozen in place. Nino kept the same, youthful smile on his handsome face as he stared at Sho’s shock, and Sho tried not to be too embarrassed about stumbling in his steps when he tried to stand.  
  
That couldn’t be true.  
  
But Nino didn’t seem like he was lying, either. He looked at Sho like he was enjoying how Sho was processing the information, and when Sho met his eyes once more, he merely nodded.  
  
“It’s up to you if you don’t want to believe me,” Nino said. “I will harbor no ill will if you don’t; if it will help you sleep better at night and without an eye open, so be it. But that’s the answer to all of your questions, especially the ones that involved money.” Nino’s expression softened. “Did I mention I like money? If you’re beginning to wonder why I haven’t left this job despite knowing what I just told you, that’s the answer. I like how it pays.”  
  
Sho couldn’t refute that: the job did pay well. The amount specified in his contract had been more than what he’d used to earn in Tokyo, and now that he had plans of finding a permanent lodging in town, he needed the salary he'd been promised.  
  
“Wait,” Sho said, clearing his throat to get his words out. “If they’re not...human, as you said, then what are they?”  
  
“Have you ever looked at Aiba-shi?” Nino asked suddenly.  
  
“Yes,” Sho replied.  
  
“Properly, I mean,” Nino said. “I’ve noticed that you’re on your guard whenever you’re with him. There’s something about him, isn’t there? You know it but you don’t quite know what it is so you can’t voice it out. But there is something about him that doesn’t quite add up.”  
  
“He seems to know what’s going on before I do,” Sho said, trying to explain his assessment as best as he could.  
  
“Because he does,” Nino said, and Sho froze.  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
Nino only nodded. “He does know. He knows what you’re about to say even before you say it. He’s not exactly hiding it either. It’s what makes him popular with the ladies in town whenever he visits.” Nino laughed. “Aiba-shi will never harm you, and even if he knows your most immediate thoughts, he’s not going to use them against you.” Nino shrugged. “Well, based on my experience, I mean. He hasn’t done that to me so far.”  
  
Sho held up a finger. “You said he knows my ‘most immediate thoughts’?”  
  
“Didn’t you ever wonder how he always had the perfect response?”  
  
Sho did. He did, and that had always unsettled him, but he found everything unbelievable still. No human could do something like that.  
  
Then he met Nino’s gaze. Unless…  
  
“He’s just like them, isn’t he?” Sho said evenly despite his heart and mind in turmoil because of the things he was learning about. “Aiba-san is just like everyone who lives here.”  
  
Nino shot him a two-fingered salute in response. “I always knew you were smarter than most of us.”  
  
“If he’s like them as you said, then how come he’s here in the mornings and overseeing what we’re doing?” Sho asked. “Everyone living here only comes out at night except for him.”  
  
“I didn’t say anything,” Nino reminded him. “You made the conclusion on your own.”  
  
“Nino,” Sho said, causing the man to laugh.  
  
“You’re so impatient,” Nino remarked. “Fine. I will say this and nothing more; I’ve given you too much already. Aiba-shi is a special case. He’s just like them, but not entirely like them. You can ask him if you want. As we both know by now, he already knows what you’re thinking even before you can say the words. One of the perks of their kind, or something like that.”  
  
“‘Their kind’?” Sho echoed.  
  
Nino’s forefinger now hovered over his lips. “I’m sure Aiba-shi wouldn’t mind answering these questions for you.” He stood and made his way to the door, excusing himself.  
  
“How do you know that?” Sho called after him.  
  
“Because I asked the same questions back then and he answered all of them,” Nino said, inclining his head. “I’ll see you in the afternoon, Sho-chan.”  
  
Nino shut the door behind him, leaving Sho to his thoughts, but now that Sho had discovered a few more things, he somehow felt that he wasn’t as alone as he’d originally thought.  
  
His gaze inadvertently drifted upwards, towards the ceiling where he’d once heard movement. The house was silent now, but he couldn’t shake off Nino’s words from his mind.  
  
Whoever had made that sound back then wasn’t human. That part, Sho was beginning to believe. He’d never seen the people who lived in the orphanage, and aside from Aiba and Nino, he had no personal contact with any of them. If he had any concerns, Aiba would relay them for him, and he’d have his answer by the next morning. That part didn’t unsettle Sho as much as he’d originally thought it would; it had been lingering on the back of his head for a while considering the odd habits that the people who lived here seemed to have.  
  
What he found himself unable to believe was his response upon successfully unraveling a portion of the mystery. He should be running back to town right now and packing his bags so he could move elsewhere. Instead he remained here, neck-deep in ledgers and documents about the finances of people wealthy enough to finance their own corporations but didn’t for some reason.  
  
He looked at the papers on his desk, at his smudged handwriting of computations and notes for the reports and proposals that the director had asked for.  
  
Somehow, Nino’s explanation justified the expenses the orphanage had long dedicated to poultry. If they weren’t human, then perhaps their kind lived off animals. That wasn’t difficult to deduce and to believe for Sho, but it did give him another reason to look over his shoulder.  
  
After all, he wasn’t allowed to remain in the orphanage after nightfall for his own safety.  
  
\--  
  
Christmas came and went, and the planning for it had been what had occupied Sho’s mind for days. Whoever the director was, Sho found himself thinking of him as being borderline unreasonable at times with his deadlines and revision requests until Sho had acquiesced to his demands regarding how the celebrations ought to go.  
  
That meant more paperwork for him to finish, though, and he might as well be looking at endless tallies and reports come the new year.  
  
While the director seemed like an uncompromising, exacting man at times, it was hard to be angry at him because all his concerns were merely forwarded to Sho by Aiba. Aiba, despite his certain oddities, was a difficult man to be annoyed with. He was kind and patient, and each time he had to ask Sho for a compromise as per the director’s requests, he always made sure to apologize for the inconvenience he had undoubtedly caused Sho.  
  
Sho was certain the apologies personally came from Aiba; whoever the director was, it didn’t seem like him to apologize for the adjustments he’d wanted despite the little time frame provided.  
  
The new year came and went like Christmas did, the winter wind still as chilly as it had been the previous month. When the new year came, Sho welcomed it with a realization that it had been four months since he’d been in Tokyo, and it had been four months since he’d lost everything he’d had there.  
  
Four months after the earthquake, he found himself acquiring a lease for a place of his own, a single-room apartment located on the second floor of the town bookshop which was situated right across the post office. Coming to work was now easier for Sho, and he had to admit that despite the orphanage director being an uncompromising man, he did pay well. Perhaps it was his way of compensating for all the troublesome edits he’d indirectly asked Sho to make.  
  
Either way, the money allowed Sho to rent a place of his own, and by the start of the new year, he no longer lived with his grandparents and had made arrangements to visit them during the weekends. Having his own apartment granted Sho the autonomy he’d long missed.  
  
More than a month into having the orphanage as part of his clientele, Sho had more or less settled into a routine: in the morning, he’d procure a newspaper from downstairs and proceed to read it while waiting for Nino and Kazama. By seven in the morning, they were on the road and on their way to the mountain, and by eight, Sho would be rechecking finances for people he’d never once met until sundown.  
  
And when the sky began to turn purple and the stars glinted overhead, he’d be on his way down the mountain, back to the safety of his apartment, the serenity of the town only interrupted by the occasional winter chill.  
  
It was a quiet, simple life. It wasn’t the life Sho had envisioned himself having the year prior, but it was something worth having. The loneliness still hit on some nights, and when they do, he’d allow himself to cry. There wasn’t a day when he hadn’t missed his family. They were still missing after the tragedy, and still, Sho couldn't bear to give up hope. Every day he'd wake up waiting for news about them, and every night before he slept he'd wish for any word about their possible whereabouts.  
  
And come morning, he’d get dressed and do the job he’d courageously volunteered for.  
  
January in Yubiso signaled a harsher winter, the snow thicker and the winds colder and stronger. Sho would curl up, keeping his feet tucked under the kotatsu for warmth, and proceed as if the cold was simply a minor inconvenience despite his body being more used to the warmth Tokyo had. He wore two coats to work and wrapped himself in a scarf knitted by his grandmother, and if Nino had noticed, he was kind enough to not say a word about it.  
  
As for Aiba, he always made sure to keep the hearth warm during the day, and if he had any complicated requests to make on the director’s behalf, Sho found himself always forgiving him because Aiba always made up for it with afternoon tea along with a string of apologies.  
  
“The director wishes for me to itemize the expenses made during the new year celebrations?” Sho clarified one afternoon, and Aiba sighed.  
  
“Yes,” Aiba said, defeated. “I’m sorry, Sho-chan.”  
  
“Is there anything in particular that he had questions about?” Sho asked after dismissing Aiba’s apology. He was used to it by now. “Regarding the financial report I completed for him earlier this month, I mean.”  
  
“The director made his own calculations,” Aiba explained, and Sho couldn’t help straightening in his seat. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust you, Sho-chan. He just wants to be sure. But there are certain things that didn’t add up, or so he said. He said to tell you, and that he left a note in case you had further questions.”  
  
At that, Sho frowned. This was new. In the past, Aiba served as the middleman between him and the director and Aiba apologetically conveyed every unreasonable request to the best of his ability, something Sho was thankful for. He was certain that Aiba had often omitted things in his phrasing, choosing to keep things simple and less demanding if he could.  
  
“A note,” Sho repeated, and in his periphery, he caught Aiba nodding. “Very well.”  
  
“I’m really sorry, Sho-chan,” Aiba said. Being the middleman made him a familiar presence to Sho, and he didn’t mind the nickname. “He’s not a bad person. He’s just…” Aiba trailed off.  
  
“Being exacting as always,” Sho finished for him. He wouldn’t badmouth his employer, but he was starting to think that the director sought to make things difficult for him for no apparent reason.  
  
Aiba looked like he was holding back a few giggles. “Yes. Exactly that, Sho-chan.”  
  
If Nino had been telling the truth about Aiba having a way of knowing a person’s most immediate thoughts, then Aiba had undoubtedly known a long time ago that Sho had been calling the director unyielding and unreasonable.  
  
Sho found that he didn’t mind; as long as he never said it, it could never be held against him. Besides, he was yet to get proof that Aiba had this particular ability. Nino’s words may seem trustworthy, but Sho wasn’t much of a believer of speculation. He believed in things that were tangible.  
  
Instead of replying, Sho began looking through the documents Aiba had handed to him until he found what he was looking for. It was an envelope that he’d never seen before, crisp and white, with his surname written with the same small characters he’d long seen in the files he’d checked before.  
  
 _To Sakurai-san_ , it said.  
  
He opened it without ceremony, and for the first time since his employment in the orphanage, the director finally seemed like a man instead of a vague idea in his head.  
  
 _Greetings.  
  
I’m sure Aiba-kun has already told you what I’m asking for. To be more specific, I’m looking for an itemized list of food-related expenses during the new year celebrations. I’m looking for the count. The numbers. If you have the receipts as well from Nino, that would be appreciated.  
  
I understand it will be an inconvenience to redo the report you’ve submitted. The discrepancy between your calculations and mine is not that big, however, I’m sure you understand how money works.  
  
I expect Aiba-kun to hand the revised report to me in a week. Until then._  
  
“‘Regards,’” Sho read aloud, knowing that Aiba was waiting for his reaction, “‘M.’” The character was drawn as two loops connected to each other. He turned to Aiba, and Aiba inclined his head. “The director refers to himself as such?”  
  
“Not always,” Aiba said, the corner of his lips lifting. If he could discern Sho’s thoughts, then he already knew how obnoxious Sho was finding the signature to be. “He told me he’d be asking me for the document in a week.”  
  
“It will be done, of course,” Sho assured him. It would take some time and he’d need Nino’s help to retrace the expenses, but it was doable. It wasn’t as unreasonable as asking for Sho to compromise on doubling the budget because one of the people who lived here happened to celebrate their birthday on Christmas as well.  
  
“Of course,” Aiba said. “I never doubted.”  
  
“Because you know,” Sho murmured, and he caught Aiba pause. Their eyes met, and Sho knew this was his moment. If he wanted to ask, this was a perfect time. “You know I can do it because you know I’m already planning on how to do it.”  
  
Aiba studied him, a measured stare that Sho weathered.  
  
Then: “Ah. Nino told you.”  
  
“Not quite,” Sho said. “I always felt like you knew what I was about to say even before I said it.”  
  
“Which made me perfect for job interviews, right?” Aiba said with a quiet laugh.  
  
“I was wondering how come you didn’t ask me the questions I had been expecting, but I suppose that’s why,” Sho told him. “How do you know? Can you hear thoughts? Or is my face just that expressive that it’s so easy for you to read?”  
  
“I don’t hear them,” Aiba clarified. “Your thoughts, I mean. That’s not how it works. But I can read them, or at least, the most immediate ones you have. What you’re thinking at the moment—that’s what’s clear to me. Anything else, however…” He waved his hands for effect. “What did Nino tell you?”  
  
“That you’ll never use this strange ability of yours to harm me or anyone,” Sho said.  
  
“It’s not strange,” Aiba said, though he didn’t seem offended. “And Nino’s right. Often, the most immediate thoughts are the ones people have been cultured to think. It doesn’t often define who they are. It can help with conducting interviews, sure, but in judging the character...I think it’s practically useless. It doesn’t tell me what kind of person someone is. It only tells me what they think of me at first glance.”  
  
“How does it work?” Sho found himself asking.  
  
“It’s different for everyone,” Aiba explained patiently, and now Sho was more confused.  
  
Frowning, he asked, “What is?”  
  
“The gift,” Aiba said simply.  
  
“That’s what it’s called?”  
  
Aiba shrugged his shoulders. “Or talent. Whatever you wish to call it for you to understand better, Sho-chan, go ahead. But that’s mine: I can discern a person’s immediate thoughts, nothing more.” He grinned. “So whatever secrets you have, rest assured, they’re safe. I have no knowledge about them.”  
  
“You said it’s different for everyone,” Sho repeated. “Nino told me that you’re like the people living here, although you’re special. What does that mean?”  
  
Aiba now scratched his chin in contemplation. He was quite an attractive man, and the sight of him lost in thought made for an endearing sight.  
  
When their gazes met, Sho could feel himself redden as Aiba laughed. No wonder Aiba knew what he had been thinking just now.  
  
“Don’t worry, Sho-chan,” Aiba said playfully, “the women in town have wilder thoughts and the most I did was flirt back and laugh about it. It’s fine. I’m glad you think that way, though. Thank you.”  
  
“You’re not really supposed to know,” Sho told him.  
  
“I can’t help that. I’m sorry,” Aiba said sincerely, his earlier amusement yet to vanish from his face. “To answer your question, I am yet to meet anyone who is like me, to be honest. But for the sake of generalization, then let’s just say I am not too different from the people living here.”  
  
“But you’re here during the day,” Sho pointed out. “And they’re not.”  
  
“Because I can and they can’t,” Aiba said. “It’s that simple.”  
  
“Can’t what?” Sho asked, and Aiba stood, walking to where the windows were before opening the curtains and revealing the frosted gardens outside the manor.  
  
“It’s the sun, Sho-chan,” Aiba explained this time, and to Sho, seeing Aiba standing under the sunlight created a vision so ethereal it was difficult to look away from it. “It’s what prevents them from stepping out during the day.”  
  
Sho remembered reading about this before in an imported book in Keio’s library. It was lore he didn’t believe in but had to read about to finish one of the requirements for his electives, and he knew there was no mistaking it.  
  
“I never saw your fangs,” he told Aiba quietly, hands now gripping the armrests of his chair.  
  
Aiba looked at him over his shoulder, and Sho saw him wet his lips.  
  
“Would you like to?”  
  
It was a genuine offer, and Sho didn’t know what to say.  
  
He averted his gaze. “I’ve read about this before,” he confessed. “I did brush it off as a lore originating from another country; I didn’t think I’d meet one here in Gunma.”  
  
“You’re in a house full of them; I think it’s best you start believing it,” Aiba pointed out, and Sho chose his next words carefully.  
  
“The children,” he started, and Aiba tilted his head in question, “are they really children?”  
  
“In appearance, yes,” Aiba said. He returned back to where he’d been sitting, crossing his legs. “But in age, they’re all older than I am. It’s the consequences of turning someone so young. They were left to fend off for themselves, and it has been that way for years until the director decided to build this orphanage.”  
  
“And no one in town knows about this?” Sho asked.  
  
“I believe not,” Aiba said. “They never venture down the mountain. The director sometimes does, but only when the sun is down. Otherwise, there’s Nino for everything they’re bound to need. And there’s me for certain things Nino can’t get. And sometimes, Kazapon helps.” He nodded to Sho's desk. "He delivers some of your letters here, doesn't he? The ones concerning business."  
  
“What are you?” Sho found himself asking Aiba, and Aiba let out another laugh.  
  
“I’m half,” Aiba said. “Born of a vampire father and a human mother so I inherited both characteristics from them, including the ability to walk under the sun as humans do. But I’m the only one of my kind here; the rest are just like what you’ve read about.”  
  
Sho’s mind was full of pressing questions now that he knew exactly what he was dealing with. He’d been working in a vampire orphanage for a little over a month and only knew now, and his immediate thought was finding something to protect himself with.  
  
His gaze met Aiba’s calm, warm ones.  
  
“No one’s going to hurt you, Sho-chan,” he said softly, but Sho couldn’t calm the dread that had settled at the pit of his stomach. “Everyone in this house swore an oath not to prey on humans a long time ago.”  
  
It hit Sho then. “The poultry expenses.”  
  
“You must have wondered for a long time how come this place spends so much on chickens and farm animals, and yet we don't have a barn.”  
  
Sho could only nod; the thought did cross his mind before.  
  
“It’s the only blood we’ll have,” Aiba assured him. “We don’t feed off humans. Why else do you think Nino’s been working here for two years now despite knowing exactly what this place houses?”  
  
“Because it pays well?” Sho suggested, and Aiba cackled, so loudly that his shoulders shook.  
  
“Nino is the kind of person that is the easiest to startle; he’d jump at the slightest sound and bolt at the next,” Aiba said. “If he ever felt that he was in danger here, he would have left a long time ago.” He inclined his head towards Sho. “I promise, Sho-chan. Nothing will happen to you here.”  
  
“You said I’m not allowed in the premises at night for my own safety,” Sho reminded him. “If I’m not in any danger just like what you said, then why impose that rule?”  
  
“Because the people living here also possess gifts as I do,” Aiba said. “And each gift is different. The director and I have long agreed that should we allow humans to work here, it will be an environment that they will be safe and comfortable in. There are many kinds of gifts for our kind, Sho-chan. And not all those who possess them will tell you of their nature.”  
  
Simply put, humans would not serve as guinea pigs for honing vampiric gifts, at least not in the Great Pasture Manor. Sho had to admit that he was touched.  
  
“It’s not really humans being prey that we consider to be dangerous,” Aiba continued. “That’s very archaic thinking, considering how many years it has been since the people living here stopped drinking human blood.”  
  
“So you don’t drink it at all?” Sho clarified, feeling his nerves settle.  
  
“It depends on the situation,” Aiba said.  
  
Sho opened his mouth to ask, but Aiba’s face now sported unbridled amusement that he finally understood. “I hope no one in town has reported about having marks on their necks after spending a lovely night with you, Aiba-san.”  
  
Aiba chuckled, his eyes crinkling. It was hard to believe that he was a bloodthirsty monster as the books had implied; he laughed so openly that it had to be genuine.  
  
“I only bite upon request, Sho-chan,” Aiba assured him. “And I don’t really make it my habit to let people know what I really am, so the occurrences have been so few this town would hardly remember them.”  
  
“I see,” Sho said. For the first time, he finally understood what the nature of this place was. An orphanage for vampires who had been turned when they were children, and thus unable to fend off for themselves. Since their minds had aged but their bodies had remained the same, they required an adult to help them acquire whatever needs they have.  
  
Or, as it was for most cases in this manor, whatever it was they fancied.  
  
Which explained the liquor and the cigars. And all the wealth that each person living here had; if one had been living for hundreds of years, money was no issue.  
  
His eyes met Aiba’s across the room, and Aiba gave a soft smile.  
  
“If I ever kept anything from you, it was because I didn’t know how you’d take it,” Aiba explained.  
  
“The director isn’t against you telling me, is he?”  
  
“Knowing him, he probably knew I would tell you at some point,” Aiba said with a shake of his head. “I know what he may seem to you, Sho-chan. I can only imagine what he wrote in the note. But he’s not a bad person. He’s just very specific because it’s up to him to look after everyone who lives here.”  
  
“So the sixty-two accounts I’m handling all belong to people who have the appearances of children,” Sho clarified, “because they were turned early. I have this correct, yes?”  
  
“Yes,” Aiba agreed.  
  
“Don’t they get annoyed when Nino refers to them as kids?” Sho asked, earning Aiba’s chuckle. “Nino knows about them, and yet he still calls them kids.”  
  
“Some of them are,” Aiba said. “But that’s Nino’s charm, as you know. He’s the only one who somehow manages to find whatever specific item most of the people living here are asking for, and they’re very appreciative of that. So they let him be.”  
  
Sho snorted in amusement at the thought of a human like Nino referring to a bunch of vampire children who were likely centuries older than him as ‘kids’. It was a very Nino thing to do.  
  
“Do they know that I’m working here?” Sho asked, unable to help himself from glancing upwards.  
  
“They’re asleep in the morning,” Aiba said. “But some of them have trouble sleeping and having enhanced hearing doesn’t help. So yes, they know. The director informs them whenever he employs someone so they don’t get surprised if they see a stranger in the premises.”  
  
“The chamomile tea,” Sho recalled.  
  
Aiba nodded. “Fujita-san has insomnia from time to time. The tea has helped a bit.”  
  
Despite Aiba’s answers for him, he still found himself wondering about one thing. “If you’re handling all the daytime affairs, how do you find time to sleep?”  
  
“It’s the director who handles everything at night,” Aiba explained. “I retire early to prepare for the following day. Of the two of us, I think his job is more difficult. It’s him against sixty-two people, after all.”  
  
“I understand,” Sho said with finality, and Aiba paused to study his face.  
  
“I expected you to be more skeptical and surprised,” Aiba confessed.  
  
“I’ve been working here for more than a month and I found some answers when I look at the ledgers,” Sho explained. “Nothing that explicitly said ‘vampire’, of course, but things implying it. You can use a house hidden in the mountains to conceal the nature of the people living here, but money will never lie. As long as I can trace where the money goes, I can find the answers eventually.”  
  
“Yes, I’ve always known you’re very clever,” Aiba said. “I also know that you put a lot of thought before you decided to ask me, which I’m glad you did, by the way. I think now that you know, it will be easier for you to work here.”  
  
“It did address certain doubts I may have had,” Sho admitted. “Will you be watching me work? Do you have to report that to the director as well?”  
  
“Oh no, I’ve made plans,” Aiba confessed. “I’m meeting an automobile distributor downtown. The director is eyeing a new model from Germany that recently debuted in the country.”  
  
At that, Sho’s eyebrow quirked. He made a show of checking the ledgers until he found the one that had the director's accounts, and satisfied that he wasn’t wrong, decided to tell Aiba about it.  
  
“I didn’t receive any directive to make any projections for any of the director’s three accounts for this,” he said.  
  
“You will soon,” Aiba assured him, standing up and straightening his coat. “Depending on how the rest of my day goes, of course. I’ll see you later, Sho-chan.”  
  
Sho could only nod and watch him leave, wondering if he should be thankful for Aiba’s heads up that he would have more work to do in the upcoming days.  
  
\--  
  
Near the end of the month, Yubiso was deeply covered in snow, the winds blowing harder and the cold seeping through the floorboards of Sho’s apartment. He had to swaddle himself in the thickest layers he could find, and whenever Kazama drove them up the orphanage, the cold simply got worse.  
  
On the morning of Sho’s birthday, he found himself leaving footprints in the snow in front of the post office as he waited for Kazama to get the automobile ready. He’d planned to leave work early today; he had promised his grandparents he would be spending his birthday with them. As Kazama motioned for him to hop on, he looked at the passenger’s seat to find it empty.  
  
“Nino’s not coming?” he asked as he climbed inside.  
  
Kazama began driving out of the town and towards where the mountain stood, imposing and cold as the snow covered nearly everything in frost. “The weather’s looking really bad, Sakurai-san. He said he’s not risking it and has asked me to tell you to consider coming down earlier. There might be a snowstorm tonight from the looks of it.”  
  
Sho sneaked a glanced overhead and saw a thick cover of dark clouds. It made for a bleak landscape when combined with the now barren areas of the mountain.  
  
“Are snowstorms considered to be a normal occurrence in Yubiso?” he asked.  
  
Kazama nodded. “We get some really awful ones from time to time. Usually, when the weather’s like this, we consider closing up the shops and keeping ourselves warm.”  
  
“The post office was open when I saw it earlier,” Sho remarked.  
  
“Only until noon,” Kazama informed him. “We’ll be closing up earlier than expected. Aiba-chan understands this; he must’ve already seen what the weather is like today. I’m sure he’ll be agreeable if you opt to leave earlier in order to not get snowed in.”  
  
“I will consider that,” Sho said. At the back of his head, he already outlined how his day ought to go. He just needed to finish the budget projection for the new automobile that the director apparently fancied and he’d be good to go.  
  
“Should I return for you by noon, Sakurai-san?” Kazama asked when he finally dropped Sho off at the doors of the manor where Aiba stood waiting.  
  
Sho checked his pocket watch. “I think two hours before sundown would be more appropriate, Kazama-san.” He inclined his head. “My sincerest apologies. If I finish earlier, I will telephone the post office.”  
  
Kazama nodded. “Please keep warm then, Sakurai-san. Until then.”  
  
Sho nodded in farewell, and he waited for the automobile to disappear from his sight before he turned back to the manor. Aiba greeted him genially, pausing when he saw that Sho was alone.  
  
“Nino didn’t want to risk it,” Sho explained as he took off his coat and made his way to the study that had been provided for him. “He said I shouldn’t, either. But you need that document.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have, Sho-chan, really,” Aiba said. “I’ve been watching the sky since I woke up and the weather looks bad from here. We’ve had instances of avalanches happening before and we want to avoid any casualties. The orphanage is equipped to withstand it, of course, but you really shouldn’t have come today. I appreciate it, though.”  
  
“Well, I’m here,” Sho said, gesturing to himself. “I’ll get the projections done and squeeze in a bit of work that I can do.”  
  
“I made tea,” Aiba called after him, already making his way out to shut the gates. “Please help yourself to some, Sho-chan. I’ll be making lunch later as well since Nino is not here to do that.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sho said, and Aiba shut the door behind him. Left on his own, Sho got to work. For the past few days, he’d been receiving a couple of notes from the director, all signed as M, and it had included very specific instructions regarding the man’s expectations on how Sho would handle his accounts.  
  
It made Sho wonder if all vampires were as exacting and precise as the director. Did it come with his position in the orphanage since he was in charge of a large group of people or was he truly someone that his colleagues in Tokyo would have referred to as a ‘nightmare boss’?  
  
The director wasn’t exactly a nightmare, if Sho was being honest. He simply had specifications that he wanted to be followed to the letter, and while Sho had no problem following orders, there were times that what the director wanted seemed impossible.  
  
Like now. For the automobile purchase, the director had asked Sho to make the projections from his two accounts only, leaving the third one untouched. Then he had tasked Sho with adding a schedule to the projections, all of which would coincide with Aiba’s trips downtown as he would be the one making withdrawals on the director’s behalf.  
  
This wasn’t the impossible part.  
  
The impossible part was asking Sho to create an estimate of the expenses by finding out how much the manufacturing of said automobile had cost. Sho understood being protective over one’s finances—it was what he was here for, to make sure these people he considered as his clients spent their money wisely.  
  
But asking Sho to learn about the manufacturing costs was a little too much.  
  
And impossible, considering that the distributor Aiba had met a few weeks ago mainly operated in central Minakami. To make the purchase, Aiba himself would have to make the trip to Minakami as well.  
  
Sho could only imagine what horrors the director had asked Aiba to do before. He found himself admiring Aiba for it; it wasn’t easy to work for the director. And yet Aiba spoke of the director highly and with a hint of undeniable fondness while Sho had increasing instances of cursing the man in his mind when Aiba wasn’t around to perceive his thoughts.  
  
Vampire or not, the director seemed oddly specific about certain things. Sho could only wonder what the man must be like; he had no intention of meeting the most demanding client he’d ever had.  
  
He buried himself in his work, not quite remembering the time until Aiba knocked on his door to remind him of lunch. Nino had always been in charge of making their meals and he was an excellent cook, something he attributed to having parents who had once worked as chefs, but Aiba was also capable of making something just as delicious.  
  
Aiba’s bamboo shoot rice with shredded chicken made Sho ask where he’d learned how to make it. Sho hadn’t eaten anything like it before.  
  
“My father had this restaurant in Hanamigawa,” Aiba explained. “He doesn’t manage it anymore, of course. It eventually got passed down to my mother’s line that I don’t know who manages it now. But it’s still there, an old restaurant that had forgotten recipes for its menu. Or maybe not; perhaps whoever owns it now has made changes.” He offered Sho a tiny smile. “It was a long time ago. I never went back.”  
  
“If you’re half-human, how did you age?” Sho asked Aiba; he never really thought about Aiba’s age until now. He knew Aiba was older, but then again, Aiba was a special case. He had the best of both worlds.  
  
“Certainly faster than humans did,” Aiba told him. He ate with Sho, and to Sho’s surprise, he laughed. “Vampires do eat, you know. It’s not just blood for us. But since I’m half-human, my palate is still suited for human food.”  
  
“So everyone living here doesn’t consume human food the way you do?” Sho asked.  
  
“They cook it differently,” Aiba explained. “Vampires have an aversion to certain ingredients that are quite common in human food. So they avoid that.”  
  
“How long has it been since you’ve been to Chiba?” Sho asked.  
  
Aiba looked thoughtful now. “It’s 1924, right? I stopped aging around 1821. I aged faster than a normal human and one day it just stopped.” At Sho’s eyes widening, he merely nodded. “So it’ll be a little over a hundred years now since I’ve last seen the city, I think. The entire place wasn’t called Chiba then. Kisarazu was a separate prefecture at the time.”  
  
“103 years to be exact,” Sho told him, quickly doing the math. “You don’t look like it.”  
  
Aiba laughed, full of mirth and delight. “I certainly hope not, Sho-chan!”  
  
“But everyone else living here has stopped aging the moment they were turned, didn’t they?” Sho asked.  
  
Aiba nodded. “The children will always look like children even if most of them are older than me.”  
  
“How old are you exactly, Aiba-chan, if you don’t mind the question?” Sho asked. With humans, it was taboo to ask one’s age so directly, but Aiba was only half-human. Surely he understood Sho’s curiosity.  
  
“I just turned 124 last Christmas Eve,” Aiba told him with a smile.  
  
“Oh,” Sho said. He hadn’t known that it had been Aiba’s birthday at the time. That would explain how big the orphanage’s expenses had been back then. The people living here must have celebrated it. “A very belated happy birthday, then.”  
  
Aiba laughed. “Thank you.”  
  
Sho took a few more bites of the rice before he spoke once more. “I turned thirty-nine today.” Aiba paused, and Sho found himself nodding. “Or not yet; if my mother was still around, she’d likely say I wasn’t born yet at this time. She always said it was a couple of minutes after one in the afternoon.”  
  
Suddenly, Sho found himself missing his mother. The grief enveloped him like an old friend, and when he finally regained his composure, he was certain Aiba had noticed the abrupt silence.  
  
“Happy birthday,” was all Aiba said when their eyes met. His eyes held no judgment for the moment of vulnerability that he had just witnessed.  
  
“Thank you,” Sho said, trusting that Aiba would know exactly what he meant.  
  
\--  
  
As the afternoon progressed, the weather worsened. The skies gradually darkened, giving off the impression of the sun disappearing completely behind the thick cover of clouds, and the unrelenting fall of snow somehow increased in intensity now that the winds accompanied it.  
  
By the time Sho had completed his projections and had handed over the document to Aiba, the phone lines were down.  
  
“If the communication lines are down, the snowstorm must have started,” Aiba said with a hint of worry in his voice. “It’ll be impossible for Kazapon to drive up the mountain at this rate.”  
  
At that, Sho deflated. He’d finished earlier than expected! But as the wind howled outside the manor, and Sho knew there was no way he’d make it back in town.  
  
He cast a worried glance in Aiba’s direction, and he was certain Aiba knew what he was thinking. “I can’t stay here, Aiba-chan. The sun will be down soon.”  
  
“And where will you go, Sho-chan?” Aiba asked calmly. “No automobile can take you back to town now; the snow is too thick. You’ll have to wait for the storm to pass.”  
  
“I know that, but—” he paused, sneaking a glance towards the ceiling. He knew that Aiba could see the anxiety on his face; he wasn’t exactly hiding it anymore. “I’m not allowed to stay in the premises come nightfall.”  
  
“No you’re not,” Aiba said. “But then again, the contract didn’t account for extreme weather conditions, did it?” He checked his pocket watch and took note of their surroundings. “It’s getting dark. If the storm lets up sometime in the night and a vehicle can traverse through the snow, I will take you back to Yubiso. But until then, you have no choice but to remain here.” He now looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Sho-chan. I promise nothing will happen to you while you’re here.”  
  
Sho shook his head. “I’m not worried about that.” He decided to tell the truth. “I made a promise to meet my grandparents tonight. They’ll be waiting.”  
  
“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” Aiba remarked with a hint of sadness in his tone. At the look Sho gave him, he explained, “I always had a soft spot for grandparents. Mine were very kind to me and spoiled me often. I’m sure yours are lovely, and I’m sorry you can’t celebrate with them tonight.”  
  
“It’s not really the celebration I’m feeling down about,” Sho said. “I just don’t want them to wait up for me.”  
  
“If the telephone lines somehow work sometime tonight, I’ll make sure to let you know so you can call them,” Aiba promised. Sho appreciated the man’s effort in assuaging his fears; by now, his most pressing concern was whether or not Kazama had attempted to climb the mountain.  
  
If he had, he’d be buried in snow along with his automobile, and now Sho was worried for him.  
  
“Kazapon’s probably fine,” Aiba said beside him. They were now back in the study and warming themselves by the fire. “He knows better; he grew up here. He’s probably keeping himself warm under the kotatsu and wondering about you too.”  
  
“The manor is warmer than my apartment,” Sho confessed. “There’s nothing to worry about.”  
  
Aiba stood then, startling Sho a bit. “What would you like, Sho-chan?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, it’s your birthday,” Aiba said. “It’s not part of your plans to celebrate it here, but we’ll make do. So I’ll go make whatever you want provided Nino bought the ingredients for it sometime in the past. Any particular requests?”  
  
“With your cooking, Aiba-chan, I’m sure anything will be amazing,” Sho said.  
  
“Is soba all right with you? We’ve got some flour here.”  
  
At that, Sho couldn’t help beaming. “I love soba.”  
  
“Then I’ll go make that and you keep yourself comfortable here. If the weather gets better, I’ll let you know.”  
  
Aiba left him then, and Sho did the only thing he could think of.  
  
He picked up the ledgers he’d tucked away earlier and got back to work.  
  
\--  
  
His neck was beginning to hurt and he let out a groan when he stretched his limbs. He’d spent the better part of the hour rechecking accounts and tallying expenses, and now that he was done with five out of sixty-two, he would have less work in the following week.  
  
Sho was actually looking forward to the weekend since his birthday fell on a Friday, but here he was, smelling like ink and parchment as he did computations and made tabulations to pass the time. His colleagues back in Tokyo had used to call him workaholic, and thinking about it now, Sho deemed that it wasn’t that much of an exaggeration.  
  
He was in the middle of writing annotations in his preliminary draft of this week’s expense report when he heard footsteps followed by voices and the occasional laughter.  
  
The footsteps were light and the voices were airy and carefree, and there was no doubt who was making them.  
  
Children. The kids Nino had often referred to.  
  
Sho could now feel his heart pounding as the sounds grew louder. He knew the children were behind the door, and while he couldn’t make out what they were saying, they certainly made their presence known.  
  
At night, the house changed. The silent manor hidden in the mountain was now full of life, of children’s laughter that somehow drowned out the howling wind outside.  
  
At night, the house woke.  
  
Licking his lips nervously, he deliberately shifted his focus back to the ledgers before him. Perhaps if he didn’t make his presence known, none of the children would notice. Sho didn’t want to admit it, but a part of him feared what these kids could do to him. They were adults trapped in children’s bodies, and being vampires, they harbored strength and other abilities that easily surpassed Sho’s own.  
  
Not that Sho had much to show for himself. He probably wouldn’t last five minutes against one vampire kid if the worst should happen.  
  
In his nervousness, it took a while for him to notice that the noises had gradually died down. His brain interpreted it as the children moving elsewhere, but Sho heard a heavier set of footsteps that grew louder with each step.  
  
Whoever made them was making their way to the study where Sho was.  
  
Sho didn’t believe in god, not after the earthquake, but he found himself praying to whoever was listening that the person behind the door would be Aiba. Rationally, he knew the chances of Aiba being behind that door were very low; Aiba’s footsteps weren’t that discernible.  
  
He did his best to look calm and composed, but he was unable to keep himself from shutting his eyes when he saw the doorknob turn, followed by the sound of the door opening.  
  
“I told you it was no rabbit,” was what he heard next—a child’s voice. “Aside from rabbits never managing to sneak inside the house, a rabbit’s heart rate is faster! I told you, Jun-chan.”  
  
“Yes, it appears you’re quite correct, Hasegawa-san,” came a man’s voice, deep and even.  
  
Taking measured breaths, Sho opened his eyes, and what greeted him was a pair of brown ones staring intently at him. The man who stood by the door was dressed not too differently from Sho, but his features were what made Sho pause.  
  
To say that this man was handsome felt like a disservice to his looks. He possessed prominent facial features—a high set of cheekbones framing a well-defined nose, full lips that were now curled in what seemed to be...displeasure.  
  
Sho could feel his heart hammering inside his chest.  
  
“I’ll get Masaki-chan,” the little girl beside the man said, darting off and disappearing quickly that Sho barely noticed the direction she went. Behind the man, Sho saw that there must be around ten children who curiously snuck a peek towards the study.  
  
The man moved, taking a step forward, and Sho’s attention snapped back to him. Now that the lamps illuminated his face, Sho could see that it was riddled with beauty marks, the most noticeable of which surrounded the man’s mouth.  
  
“They thought it was a rabbit,” the man said, earning Sho’s frown. He didn’t understand. “Or a hamster.” The man inclined his head to the side now as he appeared to examine Sho. “Given how fast your heart is beating, it can certainly confuse our hearing.”  
  
It took a tremendous effort for Sho to calm himself after hearing those words. He was aware that he now treaded in dangerous territory: he was an outsider and a stranger, and judging from the looks he was getting from the children who lingered by the door, nobody was quite sure yet whether or not he posed a threat.  
  
The man’s gaze swept over the desk before focusing back on Sho’s face.  
  
When the man’s mouth opened to speak, Sho noticed the mark under his bottom lip for the first time.  
  
“Who are you?”


End file.
